“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” my husband, Arsel, asked as he rubbed his fingers over the back of my hand.
His platinum wedding band glistened under the lights in the upscale restaurant where we had dinner. The dress shirt he wore had the first two buttons open, showing off his three gold chains. His favorite gold watch adorned his left wrist.
“You did, but I could never hear it enough.” I blushed.
Ten years later, my husband still made me giddy every time he looked at me.
“And I’ll never get tired of telling you.” He linked his fingers with mine and gazed at me from across the table. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Our hands stayed locked on the table as the waitress delivered our food. For a few moments, it felt like we were the only people in the restaurant.
Once a month, Arsel and I set aside time to go out on a date.
Date nights were important to us because we both had demanding careers. As an author, mine was a little more flexible, unless I was on a deadline. Arsel was a trauma surgeon, so his schedule was way more demanding and unpredictable.
“How was your day? Did you get enough writing done?” Arsel asked as he cut into his steak.
“I did. I wish I had done at least one more, but I’m still on track to finish by my self-imposed deadline.” I smiled.
Arsel shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t know why you do that to yourself. It’s not like you have someone telling you when you have to finish the book.”
The first three years of my career, I was signed under a publisher. By year four, I started independently publishing. My publisher was great, and I wouldn’t have left her, but she forced me to. I’d become a best-selling author, and I didn’t necessarily need her anymore. I would forever be grateful for the tools she gave me over the years. Even though I wasn’t signed under her anymore, she still supported me and helped me whenever I needed it.
The deadlines I created for myself were to hold myself accountable. I needed to make sure I released books consistently to keep up with the lifestyle I lived. Arsel paid the bills, but I still liked to contribute to the household and have my own money. I never wanted to be where I had to rely on him because life happened. Us divorcing wasn’t something I thought about, but anything could happen, even with him leaving every day to go to work. God forbid something happened to his hands, and he couldn’t perform surgery, I would have to be the one to hold things down for us.
“I know, but I like to have structure. And as long as the stories are in my head, I’m going to write them.”
At first, I thought I would run out of storylines, but so far, that hadn’t been the case. New storylines popped into my head before I could finish the book I was working on. I wanted to build my catalog as much as possible, just in case. I needed my money to be consistent, and I was trying to build a legacy for the future. Even when I left this world, my books would still be around.
“I feel you. I’m proud of you, baby.”
Heat coursed through my body. I loved it when he told me he was proud of me. He was there for me at the beginning of it all. He was there through the days I had to push through sickness or pain to write. He was the first person I called when I saw that my third book had become a bestseller.
“Thank you. I’m proud of you as well.”
Arsel and I met in undergrad. I was going for a creative writing degree, and he was going for his bachelor’s in health science. We ended up sitting next to each other in English class during my sophomore year. The first day, we exchanged phone numbers just in case one of us missed class. We started as friends, but the chemistry had always been there. I just wasn’t trying to be in a relationship, because I was too busy studying and didn’t think I had time. Arsel made it easy for me to change my mind. He was so nice to me. He would bring food to my dorm, and we would study together. He had a car, and I didn’t, so he would take me places whenever I needed him to, as long as he was available. It didn’t take long for us to fall in love.
He was my everything, and most of the time, our marriage was good. Like any other couple, we had disagreements, but we always fixed our issues.
“Aww, look at the baby.” I cooed as this lady took her baby from the carrier.
Arsel glanced in their direction but then turned back to me.
Children were the one issue Arsel and I had disagreed on, and the topic was the cause of many arguments.
“Are you still not ready to have one?” I asked the question, knowing the answer already.
“Baby, you know now is not the right time.”
“When is it going to be the right time?” I dropped my fork on the plate as disappointment coursed through me.
Every time I brought up having a baby, Arsel shut it down. It was never the right time.
“I don’t know, Janiyah.” His jaw clenched.
I knew he was pissed because that was the only time he called me by my first name.
